


Your Lies Lit up my Life

by Fictionfuelled



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Angst, Human Bill Cipher, M/M, Spy Fiddleford McGucket
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8519773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionfuelled/pseuds/Fictionfuelled
Summary: Fiddleford and Ford are roommates at Backupsmore, but Fiddleford may not be exactly what he seems. A spy AU set whilst they're at Backupsmore.





	1. Prologue - One man's entertainment

Someone was in the TV room.

That, in itself, was not unusual; in fact, it was expected that there would be at least one person in the TV room at all times. What was unusual was that the man in the TV room was watching the CCTV footage of a different building. He was leaning backwards, just far enough for the chair to be on the edge of breaking, his face painted in shadow despite the flickering lights and his eyes trained on the screen in front of him. Then, with a smile that no-one could possibly mistake for as kind or gentle, he fished a phone out of his pocket. Eyes still focused on the footage, he began to call. It rang twice before it was answered.

"Fiddleford Hadron McGucket here, how can I he-"

"Glasses," the man in the CCTV room interrupted, "it's me." He could almost see McGucket flinch through the phone and his grin widened.

"Ah! Boss! I'm sorry! I thought tha-"

"It's fine, kid," he interrupted, making sure that his tone was harsher than necessary. "Well, it's not really fine, but don't worry about it, I won't punish you. It'll be punishment enough when you're a crazy, lonely old man" Bill laughed darkly at Fiddleford's audible gulp, distorted through the crackling phone line. He relished having power over people. "Now, I have a job for you, glasses. That is, if you're up for it?"

"Yes Boss, I just haven't finished the la-"

"Oh, _I'm sorry_ , I must have misheard," Bill cut off, his voice dripping with malcontent. _"I have a job for you, glasses_."

"Yes, boss," Fiddleford answered meekly, his voice shaking.

"Good," the man purred. "Now, I know you never had the chance to go to University, so I'm being kind enough," he paused just long enough for it to be uncomfortable, "to send you off to Backupsmore".

There was quiet on the other end. Then a cautious; "but Boss, I'm your inventor, what use am I for yo-"

"Your use is what I say it is, glasses," the man cackled - an already unnerving sound made even creepier through the phone. "And right now it's for you to go to Backupsmore University. But don't worry, you won't be alone, kiddo! In fact, you have a roommate, let's call him, hmmm, let's call him IQ. He's a great guy. You'll love him, I know it." The man struggled not to laugh at the last sentence. When he had regained his composure, he continued. "And I want you to tell me all about IQ- any bright ideas he has, and so on and so forth."

He heard Fiddleford gulp. "You- you mean steal his- I have to- I'm spying for you? No you can't make me do-"

"I can make you do whatever I like," the other growled, "or have you forgotten our deal?" At the word deal, his voice had become dangerous. "You knew exactly what I was when we made our little pact. And a pact of mine can't be broken. You know that, don't you, _buddy_?"

"I am _not_ your buddy!" Hissed McGucket, his long-boiling anger finally shining through.

"You are exactly what I say you are. Remember, I _control_ you now. And no matter how hard you try to forget that, I will _always_ haunt you." The man paused, panting for breath. "The brief on IQ will be on your desk by Tomorrow morning," he finished. There was no reply. The call ended.

The man shoved the phone back into his pocket and watched the CCTV footage once again from the beginning. He paused it near the end, where a youth looked down at the bright yellow packet of toffee peanuts he held, eyes burning with a devastating loss and stinging with rage. The man's grin threatened to swallow up the world; devastating loss and rage were his favourite things. "This will be fun!" he laughed, leaning forwards to leer at the screen properly. The motion caused his name badge to be illuminated by the bright glow of the televisions.

It read: 'Bill Cipher. Tritech Corporation. CEO'


	2. 1- Similarly weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to upload the first chapter early because the Prologue was so short.  
> Here is where it really starts to kick off - warning: angst is introduced to the story (as well as intense fluff)  
> Enjoy!

 

Fiddleford  was sitting in the way he had so often fallen into when younger, his head pressed back against the wall and his knees pulled up to his chest. It was the optimum position for sketching, scribbling and designing. Except for the fact that his pencil and notebook (already fit to burst with - mostly unfinished - ideas and blueprints) lay discarded by his side and his eyes were fixed onto an unidentifiable stain on the ceiling. He had been sketching at first. Trying, desperately, to distract himself from what he was about to do, what he was doing, what he had already done. He had failed very quickly, his thoughts overwhelming him. He was terrified. He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to make his life so reliant on lies, and he definitely didn't want to help his demon of a boss capture another poor soul. But there he was anyway, because he had already made his mind up a week after that phone call.

He needed the money.

And he hated himself for it. He hated himself for being so dependent on his boss. But that money was his lifeline. He needed it to continue his work, to keep experimenting and developing. After all, parts for his inventions didn't come cheap. And he had dreamt of being an inventor for as far as he could remember. Working under Bill was extremely difficult (the man was the very definition of words like 'temperamental', 'deceitful', and 'brutal'), but it allowed him full control and freedom over his ideas.

He sighed. Almost simultaneously there was a light, rhythmic rapping at the door. He jumped and his hands began to shake slightly. This was it. This was his first meeting with IQ. This was the rest of his life for the next three years. He willed himself to calm down.

"Come in!" He called. His voice was steadier than expected, good.

The door creaked open and a man - Stanford Fillbrick Pines, _IQ_ , his roommate - entered the room. He seemed to have nudged the door open with his elbow, as both of his hands were being used to hold a towering pile of books (quite a few titles Fiddleford recognised as having wanted to read but not being able to afford). Hanging over his shoulder was a faded brown cloth bag which appeared to be stuffed with a few shirts, trousers and a large rectangular box. There were no other bags in sight. The man's face was mostly obscured by the books, but Fiddleford could see a shock of brown hair and the rim of black glasses.

Fiddleford immediately ran up to him. "Here, let me help," he insisted. The man made a vague hesitant noise but said nothing, so Fiddleford stood on his tiptoes to take about a third of the pile before carefully placing the books on the small desk by the side of the unclaimed bed. Then he rearranged them in alphabetical order, because that is what a Fiddleford does. Once finished, he turned around to find that the other books had been dumped onto the bed in a sloppy pile and their owner was watching him. He wore an amused but cautious smile. And it made Fiddleford _feel_ something. Something that hurt, but also washed him in relief because it seemed that the other man was just as nervous as he was.

 _It's his first day at University. First day away from home, from his family. You should at least make him feel welcome, you two are going to be living together for a while now,_ Fiddleford told himself. It was the least he could do if he was going to be _spying_ on the man for the next three years of their lives.

So he stepped forwards, noting carefully how the man flinched, and smiled warmly. "I guess you're my roommate, then, huh? I'm Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, nice to meet ya!" He said, sticking out his hand.

He winced inwardly at how thick his Southern accent was, something which only ever became more evident when he was nervous (and _boy_ was he nervous). It was something which he had originally loved, a part of him which was a constant reminder of his family and his home. But it had quickly become something that just marked him out as different, as a _target_. And he was definitely targeted. Part of the reason working for Bill had appealed to him was that he would have a work studio - at least under Bill the only people around him were all in the same situation. He was away from people who would bully and tease him. He still remembered their taunts, it hadn't helped that he was also- no, he thought. Focus. Focus, focus, focus. He realised that the whole time his thoughts had gotten carried away, Stanford had not taken the proffered hand and instead had only looked over him. Almost as if studying him. Fiddleford's knees started to shake.

He wasn't cut out for this.

He knew he couldn’t lie. He wasn't used to it. He had always held honesty as his main policy. He strived to do as much as possible to help others - lying didn't really fit into that plan. So he couldn't lie. Couldn’t remember, couldn’t forget. Couldn’t do anything but invent. And then he wouldn’t even be able to do that because Bill would fire him for doing something wrong. And he didn't even know what!  Was it something he had said? Or something he had done? He wasn’t sure.

And then the other man had taken his hand, and Fiddleford had never known that a handshake could feel so much like _home_ before.

Maybe it was something to do with the extra finger.

Fiddleford’s eyes widened. An extra finger! His eyes flickered down to the other hand- yep, there was another extra finger there too. So, his roommate had twelve fingers, that was… interesting. Something stung in him as he realised that that must have been why Stanford had been so nervous. He must have been afraid of the bullying, teasing, discrimination that was automatically assigned to anyone slightly different. The exact same things Fiddleford had feared from him. Fiddleford resisted the urge to laugh. And then he didn’t have to, because he remembered the brief, and what it had said about IQ’s past. About how he had been bullied. And Fiddleford wondered how often he hid his fingers behind his back, just like how Fiddleford had spent so much of his childhood trying to keep quiet. Wait- Fiddleford’s eyes widened again (seriously, his roommate must think he’s a freak!) the brief! Fiddleford had read over the brief twice before burning it, and he had always had a perfect memory. There had been no mention of extra fingers anywhere. Fiddleford cursed Bill under his breath. What else had he not told him?

Fiddleford came crashing back to earth when the other timidly pulled his hand away and he understood that they had been shaking hands far longer than what was probably socially acceptable. He tried desperately not to blush. He failed. And looked up to see his roommate looking at him curiously, probably trying to gauge his reaction.

He grinned as wide as was humanly possible and said: “twelve fingers, huh? Must help you with maths.”

 

It turned out that they did help with maths, and that he liked the subject, but not as much as science. It turned out that Stanford preferred to be called Ford. That he was also a big fan of Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons. That he doodled (very well) and liked to keep relatively (dis)organised journals. And that he disliked his slightly large nose (Fiddleford could relate - he had a similar relationship with his own nose), that he thought space was beautiful, that he was convinced that his cousin was one of many mass-produced cyborg human-rabbit hybrids, that when he laughed, his head was thrown back and his eyes became slightly squinted and it was like the merging of the sun and the moon.

Fiddleford became quickly convinced that Ford was perfect. As a potential friend, of course.

So, when Ford announced he was going to go for a tour of both the University library (allegedly haunted) and the local library, Fiddleford stayed behind. Even though he had been aching to do so when he had first arrived at the University campus (but had been instructed to get to the room first). He had to find _some_ time to sort out his thoughts after all.

Fiddleford squatted on the floor, not bothered to get up from where he and Ford had been sitting earlier, his left foot tapping nervously on the floor. He had been scared of the job before, when he didn’t know ‘IQ’. Now he was terrified. Stanford Pines was great. He seemed a little obstinate and confused, but he was kind and funny once he had gotten to know Fiddleford. And so trusting. So very trusting once they had had a proper conversation. Fiddleford didn’t want to betray that trust. He had never liked Bill. Even when Bill had seemed kinder, there had always been something about him that… unhinged Fiddleford. He didn’t want to spy on Ford, someone who seemed honestly nice, for someone like Bill who didn't even know the meanings of either honesty or nice. He groaned and buried his head into his hands. But he had already gotten involved, he had already started lying to the man. He couldn't just leave. Especially whilst he was still working for Bill - he had made that very clear. That deal they had made, back when he was young and more naïve meant he had to do what Bill ordered him to. Especially if he wanted to keep inventing. Which he did, of course he did. He couldn’t abandon his dream like that. _Could he?_

Fiddleford stopped tapping his foot and instead his hands began to rub circles on his knees. He would keep at it. For now, at least. _But_ , he told himself, _if Ford is in danger because of anything I give away, if Bill could destroy him, I will stop._ He promised himself.

Somewhere deep inside he knew that he most likely wouldn’t be able to keep that promise.

 

His boss called him that evening, an hour and a half before Ford returned. He asked him how it was, asked if he liked IQ. Fiddleford kept his answers simple. Answered only when questioned. Ignored Bill’s provoking teasing and threatening. He seethed silently the whole time.

Once the call ended, he growled and kicked the bed, his bed. He sighed and flopped onto it. He was asleep in a matter of minutes. Ford got back to the room at half past one in the morning to find his roommate face down on his bed with his clothes and the light still on. Ford smiled, they really were similar.

Before he want to sleep he covered Fiddleford with his coat - he had to be cold like that.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!  
> So this will be a multi-chaptered fic that should (hopefully) update weekly - on Thursdays. It will be switching narrative between Ford's and Fidds' points of view so watch out for that...  
> I know it's not much yet but the whole thing will probably end up being kind of long (heads-up!)  
> I hope you guys enjoy it, and please feel free to leave criticism or ideas in the comments.  
> also, Bill's voice is so hard to write, so any pointers on that would be greatly appreciated :)


End file.
